Control
by inwiththeoutro
Summary: Stiles is struggling to remain in control of his life filled with crazy, nonsensical fantasy characters. As he constantly gets pushed aside by everyone, he comes closer to the other "lone wolf," so to speak. Eventual Sterek. Warning: Self-harm, severe anxiety and panic attacks.
1. Chapter 1

Stiles couldn't breathe.

His head was hidden in his hands, buried away in his knees, creating a hopefully impregnable fortress. Shoulders shaking with panicked gulps, he attempted to reenact the steps in his head. Such an easy concept had become exceedingly impossible. Painful, in fact. Inhale, exhale. Why could his mind not grasp the simple vocabulary?

Another flash of terror jolted through his body, sending his entire frame into fits of trembling. The oxygen wasn't reaching his brain. His lungs seared in pain. _This is it, _Stiles thought, _This is what it feels like. Drowning._

Untangling his right arm from his cocoon, Stiles frantically reached around for his top nightstand drawer. Feeling for the handle, he pulled it open, his hand scavenging for that box. The one which held the cure to episodes such as these. Grasping it, Styles quickly removed the lid and grabbed the content. Never once opening his eyes, he unraveled his left arm, straightening it on top of his knees.

Stiles held his breath, feeling release moments away. He tried his hardest to focus on one thought: Inhale.

Breath filled his lungs.

The blade sliced through the skin. Exhale.

He did it.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He was breathing again.

Inhale.

Exhale.

His hands dropping to his sides, Stiles continuously repeated the words in his head, finally regaining the ability to breathe.

Minutes passed that felt like hours. Stiles felt his heart synchronizing with the tick of the clock. All he was was passing time. His eyes slid closed as he wished himself anywhere but there. Any life but this. Anybody but him.

The loud vibration of his phone on his desk jolted him out of his wishful thinking. Sluggishly, he pushed himself off the floor, slightly wincing with the pressure put on his wrists, and walked towards the brightened screen.

_Re: Scott. Will you please answer your phone?_

_-can it wait? With Allison. –S_

Stiles glanced up from the message, his eyes wandering to the floor. He turned around to look at the mess he'd left on the floor. The mess he'd left of his life. He took in the sight, the smell, the feeling, and let out a rough, low laugh.

_Re: can it wait? With Allison. – S_

_Of Course._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **

****Hey, everyone! Thank you so much for the nice reviews and interest in this story. I didn't expect such a good response, so I apologize for taking so long to upload this next part. I'll update this on a regular basis from here on until the story is finished.

Also, I suppose I should do a **disclaimer**: I do not own Teen Wolf, nor any of the characters. Okay? Great.

Again, thanks for reading/waiting/reviewing. Please keep it coming, so I know how the story is progressing!

* * *

School had become entirely unbearable. Stiles, once a straight-A, honor roll student had fallen into a perpetual state of apathy, his schoolwork falling to the wayside, his grades slipping to new lows. Luckily, he didn't have a particularly caring set of educators, so his sliding performance went unnoticed. Stiles is free to sit in class, hands under his desk, tracing up his sleeves to feel the scars forming on his skin. And absolutely no one notices. But that's what Stiles would prefer. He'd prefer to be unseen, to save himself from the ridicule of his peers. His ever-increasing anxiety was making it more and more difficult to even _sit_ around others, a constant fear of harassment incessantly weighing upon his shoulders.

The bell rang loudly, jolting Stiles from his drifting thoughts as he stood from his desk, lackadaisically strolling to the door, making his leave. He shifted through the crowd of people, trying to make himself as small as possible to avoid any physical contact (this concept caused him endless hours of torment; he could scarcely bring himself to get up in the morning for fear of being touched). He got to his locker, opening it quickly before deciding, as another teen shoved past him, slamming Stiles forward, that today was as good as any to take a half day.

With a huff, he pulled all of his books into his bag (unsure of why, though. He knew he wouldn't be doing any of the homework tonight) before turning and making his way to the door, sliding out with ease. Unnoticed. _Invisible_, Stiles thought to himself with a bittersweet smile, quickening his gate to reach his Jeep.

"Stiles."

He stopped, hearing the deep, low voice behind him. His name wasn't a question, or statement. It was a command, firm and demanding. Stiles wheeled around, putting the fakest of smiles on his face. "Derek. I think you're a little late for school, man."

Derek scowled at the teen, his eyebrow raising slightly. "You're leaving early." Again, there was no question.

Stiles continued grinning, taking steps backward to reach his vehicle. "I'm not feeling the best. Thought I'd go home. Get some rest." He shrugged his shoulders, jostling his backpack. "Power through some homework."

Derek didn't respond. He merely stared, face unmoving.

Stiles continued backward, uncomfortable under the larger man's stare. His arm moved up subconsciously to grab at his injured wrist, protecting it from Derek's sight. "Well, this has been…fun. But I have to get home. Before I infect the school."

Derek continued to remain silent, watching Stiles' every movement. He couldn't place the problem, but Stiles' erratic heartbeat, quickening pulse, and sheltered motions spoke more than anything the boy would say.

Stiles licked his lips nervously, opening the door to his Jeep. "I guess I'll see you later, then. Whenever there's something about to kill us all," he chuckled, trying to cut the tension, his mind screaming nothing but to run away, to distance himself from Derek's stare, protect himself from the sharp words which were sure to burst from Derek's mouth at any moment.

Derek continued to stare, observing as the boy tossed his bag into the vehicle. "If you need anything, let us know." Derek offered, his supposed-to-be-soothing statement coming out as another commandment. Derek would be the first to admit he wasn't the most comforting guy, but he at least knew enough about social cues to dictate when someone needed help. Hell, Derek practically _invented_ the silent call for assistance. And Stiles, whether he understood it or not, was pack, which obligated Derek to answer that call.

Stiles fake smile dropped, his face mouth turning down into a frown. He swallowed thickly, unsure of whether to bolt. He settled on nodding numbly before leaning into his vehicle, jolting it to a start and quickly peeling away, Derek's frame fading in his mirror.

Stiles wasn't' going to let anybody know. Especially if that "anybody" was Derek Hale.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been two days since he had had the run-in at the school with Derek, and Stiles hadn't left his room. He couldn't even fathom getting out of bed, getting up to go to the restroom even a struggle. He hadn't eaten in days, his mind unable to wrap around the hunger which gnawed at his stomach. His father was busy as ever, splitting his time between the station and a new woman who had waltzed into his life, sweeping him off his feet. And, as much as he tried to lie to himself, Stiles couldn't deny the sense of abandonment which seeped into his brain. It didn't help that Scott was basically MIA, ignoring Stiles for his girlfriend, not even bothering to send him a text after Stiles had disappeared for nearly three days.

Stiles could pretend all he wanted, but the wounds on his flesh couldn't deny the ever-present sinking of his heart, the slipping of reality from his mind.

Which is why, when his phone vibrated loudly on the desk, after three days of silence, Stiles willed himself to be hopeful. That his best friend or dad remembered he was alive – because Stiles certainly could barely feel it anymore.

_Stay out of the woods. Unsafe. –DH _

Stiles read over the words a few times, furrowing his brow. The woods were unsafe. What was new about that? The woods were where Scott first got his bite, where they had constant run-ins with hunters, where a supposedly deadly Alpha pack was lurking. There was literally no reason for Stiles to go to the woods, regardless. He wasn't even leaving his room. Even contemplating stepping into the outdoors was beyond his thinking capacity. With a sigh, he tapped a quick reply to Derek, leaving his phone behind him, curling back into his blankets.

_Re: Stay out of the woods. Unsafe. –DH_

_ Won't be a worry. Thanks for the heads up. _

While he couldn't understand the point in Derek's text, he couldn't deny the small turn of his stomach as he plopped back into bed, the same one he felt when Derek had stared at him that day in the parking lot, looking through him as if he could see Stiles' every thought. Derek was the only one who had communicated with him, let alone warned him of an impending danger.

Stiles worried his bottom lip between his teeth, staring at the phone on desk, as he debated the pros and cons of sending a second text to Derek. Ask him if anyone else had noticed he was gone. Ask if anyone would notice at all if he disappeared forever.

During his thoughts, Stiles managed to fall into a fitful, dreamless sleep. It was more of an unconscious state of worry, where his body jerked around, his mind consistently in unrest. He couldn't find peace anywhere, lest of all within himself. It was a few hours later when his phone buzzed again that he stirred, staring into the dark room, the light emitted from the small screen barely a flicker against the night. He closed his eyes again, attempting to forget about the noise, which he did, until it buzzed again.

With a sigh, Stiles lifted himself from the bed, letting the blankets fall to his side, his bare feet plodding across the cool floorboards silently. His face was empty as he read the messages, the hope he had from the last time his phone vibrated completely gone.

_Buddy, can I borrow your notes today from English? I wasn't paying attention. –S_

_ Also, can I borrow some money? I want to take Allison out tonight, but spent it all on that necklace I bought her. Meet me by the park in 15? –S_

Stiles knew he didn't even have to text a response. Scott would be there in 15 minutes, knowing Stiles would be there, waiting. Like a loyal dog, never asking for anything, never even getting tossed a bone in appreciation. Stiles felt his chin tremble at the realization, hoping that Scott, the boy who had spent two weeks letting him win at Mario Kart after his mother died, giving him words of encouragement through the whole thing, would be the different one.

Without another thought, Stiles dressed (or at least put on shoes and a jacket, leaving his sweatpants be), grabbed his wallet, and headed out the door. Maybe it crossed his mind that Derek had text him hours ago to tell him not to go near that area, and maybe that thought had prompted him to leave the house. Regardless, when he turned to close the door to his bedroom, he gave a look around, a feeling of finality washing over his frame as he shut the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

One hour and thirty-seven minutes.

Stiles sighed, looking at his watch, tugging his jacket a bit closer to his shaking frame. This was the latest Scott had ever been. Or, the longest Stiles had ever waited for him. It was a testimony to how little he had in his life – that he was more than willing to stand around in the brisk winds, freezing to the depths of his bones, waiting for a friend he was sure wasn't actually going to come. Scott and Allison probably got wrapped up in each other. Honestly, 10 minutes in, he knew there was no one coming. But, finally, one hour and thirty-eight minutes in, he sent out a text.

_Scott. Where are you, man? –S _

Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Stiles shivered, leaning his head up. The moon was hardly a crescent, a small group of stars illuminating the skies, free from any clouds. In reality, it was a beautiful night. If those sorts of things mattered to Stiles anymore – the beauty in the world – he would have marveled at the sight. It was something the Stiles of years past would have done, but that time had passed. Instead, he could only look up and think of the darkness, the utter blackness which enveloped his life.

Tugging him out of his thoughts (or, vapid, fleeting ideas), was a noise to his direct right. It was startling; the only sounds he'd heard that evening were of birds in the trees. This was the snap of a branch, definite rustling of leaves. Stiles furrowed his brow, looking in the direction of the clatter, seeing nothing.

"Scott?" He asked, taking a step forward. Scott was not the type to play this sort of prank. Yeah, he would jump out and scare Stiles, but not after leaving him waiting in the darkness for nearly two hours without a single word. "Scott? That better be your wolfy ass. With a damn good excuse."

He had taken four more steps, nearing a thick of bushes, when a voice chimed out, seemingly overhead. "Scott? Is he the one with that nice blonde hair?"

Stiles froze, his eyes widening. "N-no." He got out, voice way less confident than he wished it was. "Mmmh. He's the one with the dark brown hair. The less obedient one." A pair of bright red eyes, offset by cascading flaming red hair coming out of the darkness. "Shame. Even he would have been a fun chase."

Stiles licked his lips, taking another step back. "Scott is strong. You'd be surprised by the fight he'd put up." The woman laughed, her hair rolling in waves as her head shook, a hand rested on her hip. "I'm sure. Your wonderful Alpha have trained you all fantastically. Seeing as he could hardly shake me off. I can't imagine anything useful rubbed off – "

In an impressive (but stupid) move, Stiles chucked a rock at the woman. It bounced off her head, making a small cut for a millisecond before healing, not a drop of blood spilling. The playful expression turned vicious, the glee replaced by an angry, hungry glare. "Bad choice," she hissed, dropping down on all fours. "You have 10 seconds. Run."

He gasped, turning away from the growling, his sneakers slipping in the somewhat muddy grass. It took him moments to actually move, positive that those ten seconds wouldn't make any difference anyway. He could scarcely keep up a pace, regardless. He didn't have the energy – after mere seconds of running, his breath was taken away, his legs beginning to give like jelly. He saw a tree ahead, a large oak, which he didn't waste any time in diving behind, sliding in the dirt.

Stiles sank down against the tree, his chest heaving as he listened to the twigs breaking behind him, the incoming crunch of leaves, and a firm, low rumble. With a lick of his lips, he closed his eyes. The finality was setting in, and he couldn't help the small upturn of his lips – he was going to die.


	5. Chapter 5

The female wolf came around the edge of the oak, her mouth spread out in a wide, frightening grin as she stared Stiles down. She did not look at all playful; the anger from the rock obviously had overtaken her first impression of taunting. There was no denying the hunger in her eyes, that she wasn't going to turn him. This was about murder. All because of a dumb rock. He sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. That was going to be the last breath he was going to take – the panic began setting in, making it entirely impossible to even think about exhaling.

As Stiles began debating whether he'd die first from the vicious puncture of claws (the woman's breath now directly hitting his neck) or suffocation, a breeze brushed by, an easy blow of the wind, and, quick as a flash of lightening, the sounds of a hiss traveled away. Stiles clenched his eyes shut, bringing his right hand up, under his sleeve, clawing at his left wrist, a crude attempt at his usual anxiety cure. He could hear the rapid growls, the hisses, the swipes of claws and blows of fists, all accompanied by the scratch of his skin, blood dripping down his palm. And, as soon the wind began, it stilled. The noises stopped. The labored sound of breathing was the only soft racket that filled the woods. The words of the female before rang in his ears. Derek had barely been able to fight her off before. Had the final exhale belonged to Derek? After a few moments of internal struggle, Stiles finally opened his eyes, desperate to know what had happened.

The scene was a gruesome one. Derek was there, crouched on the ground, above the female, his claws dug into her chest. Blood spurted out, a dark red stream covering Derek's hand. She twitched a bit, squirming around the fingers. Stiles was sure the woman was done for, his fingers stopping their own digging as a sense of security flew over his head. Derek didn't appear to be injured in the least. If he had been, he was already healed. Derek won. Derek had saved him once again; destroyed the monster. It wasn't a fatal wound, Stiles discovered, as Derek stood, giving a short snarl, a warning, as the woman lifted her abdomen up. She glared at Derek, their eyes meeting for a moment. Quickly, the female Alpha ran away, howling, her hair cascading behind her. Had he any sense of humor left, Stiles would have made a quip about "dog with a tail between her legs," or something. Made a joke about Derek being a more competent Alpha than she thought. But, instead, he tensed, taking a breath – the first, he felt, in minutes. He closed his eyes, trying to exhale just as easily, trying not to be overcome with the panic that had been building moments earlier. He was safe. He pulled his hand away from his wrist, out from under his jacket. He could breathe if he tried. He was – Derek. His eyes opened quickly, looking up, seeing the wolf towering over him. Stiles chewed on his lip, averting his eyes as he opened his mouth, trying to come up with something before Derek (much to Stiles' relief) cut him off, sharply.

"Stiles what the _hell_ are you thinking?" Words could have come out softer. Maybe there could have been a little bit of compassion in his tone. But, Derek could not be blamed - the pure adrenaline racing through his spine made his vision a bit blurry. Stiles wasn't an entirely solid figure from his viewpoint. Derek reached out a hand, his balled fist, setting it on the other male's shoulder as he knelt down. "I told you the woods weren't safe. There's a pack of Alphas out here," he offered, a bit quieter, though no less fierce. "Do you realize how close you were to being killed?" If he hadn't been out running. If he hadn't heard the scuffle, recognized Stiles' shout…

Without a single thought, his brain not entirely functioning correctly, Stiles found the words, "if only," slipping out of his mouth. As soon as he whispered, he closed his eyes, relaxing against the tree, exhaling loudly. He had come so close. _So close._ But, in the moment, he didn't want it to happen. Why had he run from the woman? He could have stood there, let his throat get ripped out. But he chose to run, to grasp desperately for life. What was wrong with his brain? Why couldn't he pull the trigger?

Derek didn't let the words faze him externally, though the wheels in his head clicked. The strange actions in the school parking lot, disappearing for days at a time. His eyes darted down, observing the blood dripping from Stiles' sleeve. He moved his eyes over Stiles' body, taking in the fatigue, the slender frame he should have noticed before. But, now was better than later. And, Derek, if nothing else, was determined to save everyone he could. Even if it seemed they did not want to be. He nodded, mostly to himself, hopefully not encouraging the words Stiles had expelled (not that the boy would have seen the motion, his eyes were still closed as he focused on breathing). Derek had spent some time figuring out how to care to Issac on an emotional level – the boy needed constant praise, affirmation of affection, and sometimes consolation from nightmares. Perhaps he could extend that knowledge to Stiles. One thing was clear: Derek wasn't going to let Stiles go this easily.

With a careful movement, Derek pressed the wounded arm into Stiles' abdomen, protecting it. Stiles' eyes flew open, looking at Derek with worry. Stiles didn't want anyone to find out about his weakness, and here Derek was, helping him protect the wounds. He searched Derek's face for any sort of give, any hint of what was to come. But Derek remained solid. He stood, guiding Stiles up by his shoulders, the boy allowing his body to be moved easily, staring at Derek with rapt attention. Stiles' mouth dropped open as Derek spoke, his eyes surely popping out of his head.

"You think the Sheriff would mind if you stayed over at my house tonight?"


End file.
